Star Trek RPG - Mission #6: "Marala"

Nathaniel greets the woman who is been staring hungrily at him, not that he is surprised. He knows he looks appealing to both men and women. More than one woman has wasted her time trying to pursue him in his lifetime. There were still women who believed in this day and age that it was possible to ‘turn’ a gay man.

“It’s nice to meet you.” Nathaniel nods, as he notes that this officers dinner is going to be as blah as he thought . Not just with the food... but the company as well. There is nothing wrong with Nia perse. She seems nice enough. He just wishes, casting an eye at Lt. Thaler, something would happen to make this evening at least... interesting.

Nia, who's finished the chowder so quickly it had no chance to go from piping hot to comfortably warm--there's no food she loves more than anything redolent of the sea--is a little disappointed to see it go.

But the crisp, fresh vegetables of the salad are delicious and refreshing. And so pretty! Twenty years and she's still impressed by the plethora of colors that most everyone takes for granted. With Sidonia's nonstop palette of dusty browns, sand-blasted stone grays, dying olive greens and rust-toned reds, Nia could only find beautiful varieties of orange, purple, gold and pink while flying in the gorgeous but ironically toxic sky.

She's so engrossed in gobbling up the salad that she almost misses the doctor's muted and rather terse response to her introduction. Okay, this one's not the type to ingratiate himself with his new crewmates, nor a small-talker, apparently. His personality seems as different from Cecilia's as his looks.

Spotting a tomato, Nia stabs her fork into it and immediately smiles at the sweet, juicy aroma. "Here's to non-replicated food," she says under her breath, then glances politely at the stranger again. For the first time she notices his atypical eye color, at least compared to the darker-complected humans she's seen. More paradox. Between his skin and eye shades, he could almost be Sidonian himself. Except for his shocking lack of scales.

The thought makes her grin. Honestly, if you saw Cecilia, Nia and this dude in a room and were asked to pick the two relatives, the duo sure as hell wouldn't include Cece.

She also notices that those pretty green eyes are drawn to... Nia makes an unobtrusive calculation as to the direction of his gaze... Could it be Thalen? Huh. Maybe he's never seen an Andorian before? No, that's ridiculous, they're all over Starfleet. Interesting. She noticed them talking earlier, so maybe they've formed a quick friendship. Nia ponders this while continuing to enjoy the veggies.

Since New Guy's not making conversation, and a quick look at the young woman to her left confirms that Kylah's wholly engaged in enchanting ol' Bucci--the girl doesn't stick to one type, that's for sure--Nia decides that any social interaction will be her job. New Guy might be shy, although his bearing comes across fairly self-assured. But shyness can be deceiving like that.

"So, Doctor," she murmurs after finishing a yummy bite of some kind of purple lettuce, "I'm sure you're sick of these basic questions, and I know I could get the answers in about two seconds from the gossip mill..."

Nia keeps her humorous tone low and casual as she gestures subtly toward the rest of the table with her empty fork. "But as long as we're stuck here, we might as well keep entertained. Where're you from, and what's your specialty? And how are you and Cece related? ...Assuming you are, and your last name's not a coincidence."

Kylah's wine-befuddled reflexes are too slow, and her sense of propriety among formal dinners too ingrained, for her to yank her hand away from Dr. Bucci's. But whatever she is sensing from him... it is far from what she would have expected, if she had read him on purpose.

But that is the strange thing: this was not purposeful. She was not even trying to take a measure of him. Alcohol enhances her empathic senses while--frustratingly--dulling her ability to analyze whatever she feels. All she can do now is experience the complexity, the... the heavily layered aspect of Dr. Bucci's being.

Of course, nearly everyone is multifaceted. But this is more than that. It is something hidden with a labyrinth, blocked by a portcullis and protected by a moat. It makes her curious to learn more, but also... no, it is too much for her to comprehend now. She is suspended in a dreamlike cloud and would rather not spoil the moment by analysis or invading the doctor's privacy. Even if she were capable of doing so, in her current state. Right now, her body almost reels at the unexpected emotions seeping into her through his skin and radiating toward her in his expression.

Inhaling, Kylah uses her free hand to clutch the edge of the table until she steadies herself. She does not look away from the older man. His warm, friendly face pulls her in, as do his words. He is avuncular, in the best sense. And he seems to like her, to want to know her better. There are not so many people Kylah can count among her friends that she can dismiss such an offer.

"An affinity," she says on her exhale, and smiles at the word. "You speak well, Doctor. I appreciate language. Perhaps that is something else we share." She gives his hand another pat before slipping her own back into her lap. By the time she remembers her chowder, it is gone and replaced with a salad. Vaguely she recalls nodding to a server--he must have asked if she was finished with the bowl.

The cold salad is less enticing, but she makes an effort by trying to cut a piece of carrot in half. It slides around on her plate but she manages to push her knife through it at last. While doing so, she notices Lt. Thalen, which reminds her of his invitation.

"Do you like music, Doctor? Do you attend some of the concerts given by the Lyceum? I would like to be more involved in the social aspects of the ship. It is not healthy to be alone too much." Nor is it safe, but Kylah does not want to start down that path again. "What do you do for enjoyment?" she asks before crunching into her now-appropriately sized little carrot.

Dr. Bucci has just finished his chowder when it is whisked away. He picks up a fork and jabs at his salad, then takes a drink of ice water. "I've been to some Lyceum concerts, yes. I think the most recent one was the performance of excerpts from Holloway's Six Days in Venice, which was quite good. When I'm not in Sickbay or the lab, I like to read, or do some gardening in the Arboretum, or cook. I really do love to cook." He adds, "And yes, I certainly hope you'll get more involved in the social life of the ship, Mr. Kylah. There's no reason to be bored or lonely with so much to do, and so many interesting people aboard to get to know."

Graham replies "Sorry to hear that," to the amiable botanist. Then he chuckles and adds, "I suppose most people would say a planet that's boring for those us in Security is actually a good thing."

After a bite of his salad, if the opportunity arises, he asks Cecilia "How's your cousin settling in?"

Ngaka laughs. "Yes, that's true. I suppose I would prefer if Novy Rostov were both botanically-interesting and Security-boring, if there is such a thing." She digs into her salad, too.

Lt. Bennett says, "He seems to be doing all right." She lowers her voice and leans closer. "But I've heard he's already irritated some people. I love him, he's very smart, he's a great doctor, but he doesn't suffer fools gladly. The problem is that he thinks too many people are fools."

Kylah, her hunger somehow bolstered by the interaction with Dr. Bucci, eats more of her salad while listening to him. She also casts her eyes across the table to see the others opposite her--perhaps she should include them in conversation as well.*

But then the doctor's words give her pause, and she turns to him in surprise. "Forgive me--did you say you cook? In the Galley?" She glances behind her in the direction from wherever the servers seem to be emerging. She cannot see Mr. Johnson, but guesses he is back there somewhere. Then she again faces Dr. Bucci. "But why, when you have people to cook for you?"

Immediately she realizes she has probably just said something very ignorant, or naïve, or elitist--or all three. "I mean, I would think this is not usual for someone of your stature... hierarchical stature," she hastens to add, afraid he might think she is referring to his weight. "On Elas, food-handlers are of a different, well, caste."

Kylah lays down her fork and knife and lets her hands slide into her lap, now wondering whether to admit this or not. She opts for the truth. "To be honest, I have never in my life prepared a meal. Is it really so... enjoyable?"

* We know who's sitting next to each other, but who's sitting across from, say, Bucci, Kylah, Nia and Nathaniel?

Dr. Bucci says, "Yes, I really do like to cook. It can be fun, and it's a good chance to be creative and try new things." He smiles. "You should try it sometime - or maybe let me cook for you?"

Graham frowns slightly. "Yeah, just like sometimes discretion is the better part of valor, sometimes diplomacy might be the better choice, regardless of what one thinks of somebody...," he says quietly, instinctively leaning in toward Cecilia. As he does so he becomes much more aware of her closeness, and a scent of...well, whatever she smells like...

He clears his throat and stretches his shoulder blades as he returns upright, and--perhaps a little over-hastily--takes a stab at his salad.

Kylah nods seriously, as if the doctor is offering her a diagnosis and prescription at the same time. "Yes, I would like that very much, sir. Please let us make an engagement at your convenience. You are right, I should try new things."

As her eyes shift briefly past Dr. Bucci, she spots the attractive Mr. Alvarez a few seats across from her. She smiles a little in greeting, in case he should look at her, and suddenly reflects on the doctor's advice: new things can also mean new people, can it not?

The alcohol having cut loose the censor that usually holds her tongue, Kylah leans closer to Dr. Bucci, still gazing under her lashes at Carlos. "The medical officer over there... Mr. Alvarez. Do you know him? I met him tonight, I thought he was rather..."

Suddenly she catches herself, and at once her face burns. "...Rather... rather nice. I was surprised that I had not seen him before. Considering how often I have been... oh, it does not matter."

Helpless, she quickly looks away, pretending to be searching for something, and reaches for her wine glass like a drowning woman grasping a life preserver. One more long swallow empties it, and Kylah scowls down into the glass, almost betrayed.

Turning right swiftly to catch the eye of a server, she accidentally knocks her shoulder against the arm of the woman beside her. With a wince, Kylah backs away. "I beg your pardon, Lieutenant."

Nia's attempt at conversation with the unfortunately tightly wound doctor is interrupted by a sudden small thud against her left elbow.

She turns and sees Ensign Kylah, looking abashed while clutching an empty wine glass to her well-displayed bosom. If she hopes to use the glassware as a shield, she'll have to enlist several more before that chest is fully protected.

Nia picks up her napkin and dabs her wrist, since some of her own glass tipped. "No harm done," she says smoothly. "It's just water, there's no damage." Her closeness to the girl allows her to notice the scent that surrounds her. She lowers her voice. "You might benefit from sticking to water yourself, Ensign."

She smiles a little to let Kylah know she's just trying to be friendly, and turns to add Bucci in as well. Shouldn't he be noticing that the girl's getting sloshed? I mean, it's her business, but is the Captain's table really the best place to make an idiot of yoursel --

Annnnnd that's when Nia's focus suddenly lands further down from Bucci. To Cecilia Bennett. And, of course, Booker.

Who appears to be making his own attempt to judge Cece's level of alcohol consumption by using his nose. And most of all, his proximity.

Oh Seht'dar's holy balls, she thinks, gaze immediately darting back to Kylah but not seeing the underdressed overdramatic young girl. Speaking of making an idiot of yourself. No, she's not thinking of Booker: right now, Nia, someone who's never let her heart get stomped on by any man since she left Sidonia, feels like the biggest frickin' idiot at the table.

Considering both Kylah and Vargas are at the same table, that's saying a lot.

Nia's concern about the Elasian princess's alcohol consumption is very, very distant. "My but you're looking thirsty, Ensign," she says coolly, and lifts her hand to beckon a server. If one appears, she'll ask for more... whatever Kylah's having... and, after waving Kylah's murmured thanks away, returns to Dr. Bennett.

"Absolutely," says Lt. Bennett to Graham, stabbing a radish, putting it in her mouth and chewing. She shakes her head with a ruefully affectionate expression. "But that's just not Nathaniel's way, most often."

Dr. Bucci glances down the table, turns back, smiles and says to Kylah, "Yes, I know Mr. Alvarez very well. He's an excellent medical technician, and a fine young man." He sees her drain her wineglass and says gently, "Perhaps you might slow down a bit there, Ensign...?"

A steward brings Onn a glass of Dorwinion chablis, as requested.

The salads completed, the stewards clear them from the table and next set down elegantly-arranged plates of sliced Eridani duck à l'orange with mixed vegetables, as well as several steaming baskets of garlic popovers.

Graham turns...well, maybe tears, there's some real effort involved there...his gaze away from Bennett, but as the next course is laid in from of him, his feelings are unambiguous...

I just wish I'd been seated next to Nia.

He pokes at the impressive but inscrutable dish laid before him...it's like something Jane would have ordered...and been able to explain...

He coudn't offer much on that score for Terran dishes to Nia, but if they were sitting at a table for two, in a nice quiet corner, he feels sure she could explain a dish from her homeworld...

He looks up and around--if he can he'll try to catch Nia's eye...at the least he'll try to get a sense of whether she's enjoying herself.

Nia thanks the steward for the wine but, excusing herself from Dr. Bennett again, directs him or her to pass it along to Kylah. "Not for me--I was just the conduit." As she gestures toward the younger woman, she continues with a tight smile, "Ensign Kylah here was having difficulty making herself into the object of attention, possibly for the first time in her life."

Even as the last words leave her lips, Nia wants to grab them back. Her immediate hope is that Kylah is too soused to hear them, but the quick blinking and visible wave of surprise and hurt crossing the girl's expression prove her wrong.

Shit. Shit shit shit.

Her smile erased, Nia leans over and reaches out to lightly touch Kylah's arm. "Ensign," she says softly. "Kylah. I'm sorry. It was a joke. Not a good one, I know that," she adds, realizing she doesn't want to sound like she's excusing herself.

She can't help it--she glances over at Booker, hoping he hasn't overheard her being bitchy to his... well, whatever Kylah is to him. It's unlikely, and fortunately Kylah's face isn't visible to him, so he can't see her downcast eyes, either. But luck isn't completely on Nia's side, because Booker is looking their way. Blood rushes to Nia's face in shame-filled heat.

But it doesn't matter. Whether he heard it or not, Kylah heard it, and understood it, and that's what matters. Nia refocuses on her. "Please, I'm really sorry."

Kylah is reaching for the wine when she hears Dr. Bucci's gentle caution, followed swiftly by Lt. Onn's arch remark.

Blindsided, she almost lets the new glass slip through her fingers as the insult hits home. Lt. Onn's comment is hardly the worst thing anyone has said to her--it is quite mild, in comparison--but its implication and the sheer unexpectedness feel like a slap.

She sets the wine glass down on the table with care, not knowing what to say or do. Others would laugh it off. Lt. Onn, for example. Kylah tries smiling and fails, instead blinking like a mute fool and sitting in useless paralysis.

The lieutenant's hand touches hers--it is strangely cold and startling. Not a human feel. Then she offers words of apology and Kylah can sense their sincerity. Lt. Onn is sorry she said what she did--Kylah knows that.

But she meant it. Kylah knows that, too.

She is aware that others might happen to notice their interaction, so she must become a better actress. Another attempt at a smile--better? Worse? It might well seem more like a grimace. Now to add some light to her voice:

"That is all right, Lieutenant, I understand. Besides, it was true enough." Kylah reaches for the glass again and sends a chastened look at Dr. Bucci. "Just a little more. Then I shall eat."

One sip--a long one, chilled but warming--and Kylah obediently puts the wine down again and picks up her fork and knife. Lt. Onn is still watching her but Kylah pretends she does not notice. "When might we dine together, Doctor? And what would you cook for me? Surely nothing so formal as this."

Dr. Bucci watches the interplay between Onn and Kylah with a compassionate expression. Then, clearly as eager as Kylah to change the subject, he says jovially, "Whenever you wish, and whatever you'd like. I'm Italian, so pasta would probably be a good place to start. Have you ever had a good plate of pasta primavera?"

"Is duck not your thing, Booker?" Cecilia Bennett asks.

Graham sees that Nia doesn't seem to be enjoying herself at at all...she seems--what? Upset? Pissed off?

By Ens. Kylah.

Graham's well aware Nia isn't Kylah's biggest fan by any stretch of the imagination--and that Kylah has something of a temper--but she can't imagine what or why Kylah might embarass or lash out at Nia...

He's taken aback and...he's not sure how to feel. Shocked, confused, a little angry even...

It takes a second for Bennett's words to register, he realizes he's staring.

He abruptly turns back toward Bennett, and forces a smile. "Uh, no, I, ah--I'm sure it's great. It's a little, ah...intimidating I guess." He shrugs slightly. "I'm really not much of a gourmet, you know? I mean, am I supposed to eat the meat with the vegetables, or cut the duck into precisely 3 pieces against the grain or the bias or whatever the hell they call it..."

He forces a chuckle. "I do know I'm not supposed to use my hands."

Bennett giggles. "No hands, that's true. Otherwise I think you have pretty broad latitude as to how you divide and conquer it." She looks down the table and says conspiratorially, "Now, look - the Captain and the First Officer are cutting up their ducks differently; who's to say you can't, too?"

Kylah is very aware that Lt. Onn--while no longer looking at her--is still emotionally wound up in what just occurred between them. A little swell of spite makes her pleased to ignore the senior officer. All thanks to the amiable Dr. Bucci. The intense depths she felt within him were probably due to spotting a kindred spirit.

"I do not believe I have tried that dish, sir, but I would be pleased to try it. Primavera," she repeats a little dreamily, her accent flawless despite her somewhat alcohol-slowed tongue. "That means 'springtime,' does it not? Italian is beautiful--so rich and robust. And romantic."

She smiles a little in memory. "Indeed, it was the first Earth language I picked up. The ancient music associated with it is glorious... all the songs and arias made me want to learn how to play them, and even sing them. And then to understand what I was singing."

The duck is tender and almost melts under the touch of Kylah's knife, and in her mouth as well. She savors the sauce and juicy meat. "Mmm. Sweet but succulent." After a bite of the vegetables, she decides she has earned another sip of wine, after which she reaches for a popover.

She smiles while prying her thumbs into its flaky layers, then closes her eyes while chewing the buttery garlic pastry, which turns out to be lighter than air. She has not eaten this much in... well, she does not remember. "What a treat, to be able to use my fingers as they were meant to be," she says, delicately licking a hint of butter from her forefinger before regretfully using the napkin for the rest. "Three years at the Academy and a few months here, and I still miss eating as my people do."

She glances at Dr. Bucci, wondering how much he knows about her culture. She picks up her fork again and points at the duck slices.

"Take these. Game birds are common fare on our tables back home. But we do not chop the flesh into such tiny, unrecognizable pieces. We honor the creature by serving it whole. And eat it directly using our hands to tear into the flesh. Cutlery is considered... what is the word?" Kylah lifts her gaze to the ceiling in thought, as if expecting to find it written there. After another sip of wine, the trick works. "Effete."

She places her glass down--almost hits the edge of the table, but manages the procedure successfully. "We do use knives, of course, for separating the joints." Kylah returns to cutting into the next duck slice. "And meals require cleansing bowls at table; things can be messy, not elegant, like this.

"But I think that is as it should be," she adds, a slight frown lowering her brow. "Eating with our hands is meant to be a visceral experience. I suppose because we Elasians are honest in acknowledging that we are animals too."

Kylah hesitates, her mood changing, and she leans a little closer to Dr. Bucci as her voice lowers. "If you do not mind my saying so... humans do not like such reminders, do they? They maintain the pretense that they have evolved. Most I have met like to believe they have left their non-sapient ancestors far behind them."

She shakes her head. "But even with their fine table manners and honorable Federation ideals, some humans can match the basest, most brutish beasts. Maybe anyone can, if pushed far enough." Now that she is closer, she starts to sense his emotions again. "What do you think, Doctor?"

Nia's one of the taller women on the Yorktown, but right now she feels smaller than the shorter-than-average Elasian ensign in front of her. Oh, Kylah acknowledged her apology, even accepted it. But things aren't okay.

Now Kylah's effectively dismissed her--Dismissed her! Cripes, Nia's got two ranks on the girl!

Except rank doesn't matter when the so-called superior acts like one of those catty cadets who thinks Starfleet's a zero-sum game.

Irked in the extreme, Nia sees no reason to believe Kylah will turn around and give her some kind of sappy hug of forgiveness. As Nia starts to swivel back to Dr. Bennett, she actually catches Booker's gaze. He may not realize it, but his jaw's set like iron, and it's not because he's imitating Lady Cecilia's patrician stiff-upper-lip act.

Shitdamnfucksonofabitch.

He obviously saw this interaction, and, just as Nia feared, knows she's to blame for something.

Does it matter? He seems to have made his choice, and it's the cool, milky-white hothouse lily, not the dark, dry, earthy jade plant. Like the lily, delicate Cecilia Bennett needs gentle courting, careful tending... the woman's almost tailor-made for a guy who loves playing the knight in shining armor.

Meanwhile, like a desert jade, Nia's tough, able to withstand droughts, and can flourish almost anywhere with very little maintenance. Hell, she's successfully been transplanted from an entirely different atmosphere, a Class-H girl surviving in a Class-M Federation.

Let's see Cece survive a night without oxygen, see how blue her blood really is.

Ugh, great. Now Nia's reduced to being petty. What is wrong with her? Besides, what's all this "Booker's choice" crap? Since when does Nia care about whether a man "chooses" her? Get. A. Goddamn. Grip.

Taking a deep breath, Nia sips her ice water and turns yet again to Dr. Bennett. "Well. I hope you weren't paying attention. Not my finest moment. I can be, um, prickly." Sighing, she tucks into the main course, which seems to have arrived without Nia noticing, and chews contemplatively while examining the man beside her.

Graham wants to look back over toward Nia to figure out what the hell could be going on, but if he's certain of nothing else it's that there's absolutely nothing he can do at the moment that wouldn't most likely make things worse rather than better.

Bennett's giggle and conspiratorially tone are distracting in their own way...he resists the urge to look away, and this time his chuckle is more authentic. He lowers his voice and leans in toward Bennett.

"Sssh, don't get Vargas' attention. I can hear it now--'how are you going to deal with a Romulan boarding party, lieutenant, if you can't handle some roast duck?'" He shakes his head and holds his utensils at the ready, moving back to a normal seated position. "Well, cheers," he says, smiling slightly and impaling a piece of duck with his fork.

Dr. Bucci says, "Yes, pasta primavera is best with fresh vegetables - in the springtime, or any time, really.... There are as many ways to eat food as there are species in the galaxy, but there's nothing wrong with finger food.... And yes, human beings are capable of anything - good or bad." He smiles. "Most of us try to be good." Kylah somehow senses that he has not always actually been good. Beneath his good cheer, there is something deep and dark, carefully concealed but unsettlingly perceptible to her, despite all the wine she's drunk.

"Cheers to you, too," says Cecilia Bennett, raising her glass to Graham a little before leaning forward to talk to Lt. JG Melissa Ryan, across the table from her, about a book they're both reading.

Nathaniel grins. “Oh it’s okay. I don’t know if you’ve heard, but I can be a bit prickly myself.”

Nathaniel isn’ t sure, but he might like Nia if he got to know her. Or at least would find her less annoying than most people. But it might help though if she didn’t stare so much.

At least this dinner is going by quickly. People were to be eating fairly so and the service is adequate enough where they didn’t have to wait between courses. Maybe this would be over soon. Or so he hopes.

Graham risks a glance Nia's way. She seems to be chatting with Dr. Bennett... Well, Nia's no fool, and I don't think it would go well if he were to treat her as such.

At least whatever was going on with Kylah seems to be over. He sighs and returns his attention to his plate.

Kylah searches Dr. Bucci's eyes, torn. He has been helpful to her, and so friendly.... She needs friends now, and the doctor is the first man on the ship, other than Lt. Thalen, who has been nothing but kind to her.

Still, while her empathic abilities are compromised, she cannot ignore what seems to be lurking in the man beside her.

Maybe he lost a patient, Kylah thinks desperately. Maybe he was careless and misdiagnosed someone. Perhaps he feels guilty for that? Except she cannot be certain it is guilt, exactly, that she senses.

With an infinitesimal tightening of her lips, Kylah nods at the doctor's words and redirects her stare to her plate. Unease makes her no longer interested in the food, although she cannot for the life of her understand what, precisely, is bothering her.

"I do not know if I agree that most try to be good." Her voice is soft and thoughtful. "I wish that were true. Even those who do try, do not always succeed."

Lifting her fork, she draws tiny lines in the duck's orange glaze, the pattern more simple and straightforward than her thoughts. She is judging Dr. Bucci, but what if he could see inside her? The things she has done for Elas, the information she passed along without permission... A court martial is the least of what she could expect if she is caught out. And that is only if Starfleet learns of her deceptions. If the Klingons do...?

Repressing a shudder, Kylah takes a large inward breath, then continues in an exhale: "And is 'good' not subjective, at times? Sometimes we do things that--that seem bad--but for good reasons. Or maybe they are just rationalizations," she admits quietly.

Weariness takes hold of her, the wine acting like a warm blanket. She shakes her head to clear it and looks back at the doctor. "These are complicated issues. Perhaps they are best saved for later? After I have tried your pasta," she adds, attempting another smile.

Dr. Bennett's grin is surprising and, uh, ridiculously charming. He should do that more. Or maybe not: his patients' heart rates would skyrocket, making any examinations inaccurate.

Nia chuckles at his response, paying attention to cutting her food. "At least your prickles aren't literal." She nods at her hand and, with a hint of concentration, lets her scales lift, turning her skin reptilian with its gleaming, iridescent silver before she lets them recede back to normal.

"But honestly, I haven't heard a thing about you yet, Dr. Bennett. Don't be insulted, though--I had a pretty busy watch on the Bridge this afternoon. Kinda prevented me from getting my minimum daily required intake of shipboard gossip."

Suddenly she realizes the doc hasn't answered her question about any connection to Cecilia. The way she feels right now, she doesn't trust herself to ask the question and remain neutral. Against her better judgment, Nia risks a look in that direction to see whether Cece's managed to sidle onto Booker's lap yet. Or vice-versa.

Oh shoot, the Ivory Sylph is totally obliterated by Bucci's bulk. All Nia can see to her left are little Kylah and her apparent new best friend.

Until she sits forward a little bit. And discovers that Booker is doing exactly the same thing. His face becomes visible from behind Bucci's stomach like a sun emerging from an eclipse.

Her response to seeing him is automatic, instinctive, unthinking: she smiles questioningly and mouths hi.

Somehow she manages not to shrink in self-reproach. But inside, she's seething. What the hell?! Can't she control herself? Her emotions are all over the place. Is it hormonal? What day is today, anyway? Tonight's one of her airtank nights, but that usually makes her feel a little lightheaded, not so frickin' unstable and... well ... girly.

She absently stabs at a forkful of veggies and manages to resume her conversation with Dr. Bennett, even if she's still glancing over to see if Book's still annoyed with her. "So you think you've already got a rep, do you? Why, who'd you clash with? The med team's probably the most likeable department on the Yorktown, taken as a whole."

There is a burst of laughter from the Captain's end of the table. She and her civilian guests seem to be getting along famously.

Lts. Vielar and Thalen appear to be deep in conversation.

"I still believe that most people are good, or at least try to be," Dr. Bucci says thoughtfully. "If not, would civilization even be possible, Mr. Kylah? The vast majority of people aren't thieves or murderers, or society itself would collapse, don't you think? That's not to say there aren't bad people out there - of course there are, unfortunately, and more in some places than in others." He takes a sip of wine and smiles. "In any event, I enjoy talking with you, Ensign. Deep thoughts or idle chit-chat, I am always at your disposal. And yes, pasta is always a good food to talk over!"

Graham can't help but overhear that Bennett and Ryan are talking about a recent novel, Alice Bradley's Dawn on a Red Planet, about the early settlement of Mars.

With the main course eventually finished, the stewards clear the plates and bring out generous slices of moist, tart Fraestead lemon cake ("A favorite of the Captain's," Three Crows says offhandedly to Dr. Bennett) for everyone who wishes it. They also offer tea, coffee and other hot beverages.

Graham thinks better of jumping in to Bennett and Ryan's conversation. Haven't read the book, but I broke up a brawl on Mars once. Bunch of miners and a green Starfleet crew getting too drunk on their very first leave. What a shitshow. There was this one guy, I had too...

From the laughter from down the table, Graham gets the impression that the miners here may be a more mellow bunch.

Catching a glimpse of Nia smiling at him though...that was gold that brightens up his newly more glum mood. If and when he can catch her eye he returns a slight smile and nod.

The doctor seems more optimistic about individuals and their goodness than Kylah is--in her studies, and indeed in her own life, she has found many civilizations that run on the fear caused by the corrupt and powerful.

But as Dr. Bucci seems untroubled, Kylah will not disagree further. Especially because it is also her experience that people she wishes to befriend do not tolerate her expressing her opinions for long.

When the dessert arrives, Kylah eyes the slices of cake, tempted, especially when she gets a hint of its sour-sweet scent. But the duck was fairly heavy, and she ate an entire garlic popover earlier. Any more carbohydrates and she will surely fall asleep. The drinks are definitely showing their effect on her, even though there is still some wine left in her glass...

Wine. She frowns and sits up--she has been slumping in a way her mother would most certainly have disapproved. At the last formal dinner... I had to make a toast. She cannot remember why she was chosen, but it was definitely her. Because she was royalty? Because she was the youngest? It does not matter, what matters is that she might have missed her cue. Last time, the main meal had been over, she knows that. But was the toast made with the dessert, or after?

She should know this, ceremonial rites are part of her studies. Concerned, she tries to meet Lt. Thalen's eyes, hoping to get some direction from him--but he is talking with someone she does not know. Then Kylah hears the laughter at the head of the table and is alarmed by the irrational thought that they might be joking at her having missed the timing.

Her left hand clasps the table edge as she pulls herself a little unsteadily to her feet, once again bumping Lt. Onn's chair, though not as heavily as before. With a glance down at the older woman she shakes her head while picking up the wine glass. "Forgive me, I just do not want to delay the toast any further."

She sees the older woman turning toward her, probably indignant, but Kylah ignores her. Swinging to face the head of the table, she raises her glass. "My apologies," she begins--the word causes her a little trouble with a slur, but she pulls herself together to continue. "The food and company have both been so delightful they distracted me from my duty--"

Here Kylah freezes. She does not remember what happens next: does she toast the Captain, or the ship? Her thoughts race--or rather, they slowly tumble like broken gears--in search of the answer for what feels like an eternity.

Book's smile cheers Nia up considerably, though she is still uncertain why her mood is suddenly so embarrassingly dependent on how a man thinks of her, or whether he thinks of her at all.

As she returns her attention to the doctor, the now-recognizable curvy hip belonging to a certain clumsy ensign knocks into Nia's elbow again. Nia reins in her annoyance, not wanting a repeat of her last gaffe, but turns to see if Kylah's purposely trying to get her attention.

...Just in time to see the girl leaning rather heavily with one hand on the table for support. Kylah murmurs some excuse to Nia, about not delaying a toast. What toast?

Nia's eyebrows raise when Kylah starts to lift her glass. Realization hits at once and Nia glances swiftly at Vielar and Sonak, then at Dr. Bennett. They're the newest additions to the crew, at least, the newest ones seated at the table--the tradition is for one of them to make the toast.

And it's not even the right time. How drunk is this kid?

Guilt stabs at her as she eyes the glass in Kylah's not-very-steady hand. Yeah, that wine glass: the one Nia ordered out of spite, knowing full well Kylah was already nearing her limit as far as alcohol consumption was concerned.

Crap. I screwed her over again. Twice in one night.

When Kylah's words stutter to a halt--'Distracted her from her duty,' what the hell can I cover this with?--Nia thinks fast and rises, far more smoothly than the younger woman did. With a pleasant smile, she places a friendly hand on Kylah's arm, lowering it. "Oh, no, Ensign, you don't need to make your excuses and leave now. The project can wait until after the dinner. Tomorrow, even."

As Kylah tries to focus on Nia with those inky black eyes of hers--actually kind of mesmerizing, they're huge and look like they're nothing but pupil, no iris at all--Nia's fingers squeeze in hopes that the girl will keep her mouth shut and play along.

She turns to the VIPs. "I'm sorry, Captain...Mr. and Mrs. Kostoyev... Mr. Dowd." Nia looks very quickly at Vargas. "Commander." As quickly as possible she returns to Singh. "It's my fault. All a misunderstanding. I can explain."

"That's all right, Mr. Onn," the Captain says, looking at her and Kylah and raising her eyebrow just a little. "No explanation necessary. Please be seated, ladies... unless you have to go."

The First Officer frowns but says nothing. He picks up his fork and takes a bite of lemon cake.

After a lull, conversations resume around the table.

"Coffee, sir?" a steward asks Graham.

About to sit down, Nia sees that Kylah is staunchly remaining on her feet, frowning and not quite tilting herself against the table for support. "I... But I am supposed to--"

Nia rushes over her to answer Singh directly. "Well, ma'am, it's actually pretty interesting. In my spare time, I've been working on..." Shit, what would make sense? Nia didn't have time to think this through before jumping in to prevent Kylah from looking like a fool. She thought the kid would figure out what Nia was trying to accomplish. Instead, Kylah's not just looking a gift horse in the mouth, she's giving it a physical and then shooting the damn beast.

With nothing else springing to mind, Nia decides to run with one of her dream projects.

"... An experimental prototype based on wearable technology for communication purposes." She warms to her subject. "During the whole Aelyrr / Klingon confrontation, the Klingons used those anti-transportation devices that were smaller than our own communicators--as in, small enough to wear.The Aelyrr have a few of 'em that their attackers dropped, and they're trying to reverse-engineer them.

"The tech's not exactly what we need, but pretty close. I was hoping to get the specs from them, and since the universal translator's still not quite up-to-snuff on their language, and Kylah's our resident expert on it... She was going to help me translate some of the messages I need to send the Naradraen."

Whew. That's actually... not a bad story, and not a bad idea, either. Nia feels confidence flooding back as she continues. "It was pretty fascinating technology, from what little we saw. If we can piggy-back actual two-way communications into something voice-activated--or at least easy to initiate--that doesn't need to be handheld? This could be a total game-changer for us on landing parties or any off-ship missions." She aims her next words at Kylah. "Still it's certainly not something we need to work on tonight."

* * *

Kylah shakes her head, confusion lowering her brows. "But Lieutenant... I do not understand, that is not at all what I--"

"Yes, I know," Lt. Onn says with odd emphasis. "I probably gave you the impression it was a rush job. But... it's really not. I just... got over-enthusiastic." She grins sheepishly while using slight pressure to pull Kylah's arm down. Kylah can sense the urgency of Lt. Onn's determination to force Kylah to do... something. Kylah just does not know what.

The older woman continues. "Cmdr. Cheverez can confirm I'm often tinkering away at all hours and often dragoon any spare engineer into joining me. But this is a purely experimental, long-term project. Totally off-hours." She eyes Kylah intently. "I promise, Ensign, you can be seated. Enjoy the rest of the meal."

Finally, Kylah understands. It is a direct order, even though uttered like a mere suggestion. She stops what must look like a goldfish impression and closes her parted lips; then, somehow, she reaches behind her to find her chair, sitting more gracefully than she stood up. And yet she is more lost than ever.

* * *

While the ensign obeys her command, Nia says in a barely audible whisper, "I'll explain later. Just keep quiet for the rest of the meal. Period. Got it?"

Kylah inhales as if to speak, then just lets it out in a sigh.

Atta girl. Mute agreement: the best kind.

The girl sits heavily back in her chair and, releasing her grip on the wine glass, lets her hands fall into her lap. Her face is as red as the tomato Nia ate earlier.

But, blessed be to Sid'os, she manages to keep her mouth shut.

With her own deep breath, Nia nods again at the VIPs at one end of the table, then, sitting down, sends a general warm smile to the rest of the crew surrounding her. "Sorry again for the interruption. My fault entirely." Her gaze reaches Booker, not sure if he'll buy her explanation. If not, he'll probably be pissed off at her for yet again embarrassing Kylah. She can't wink or anything like that, though--too many others are watching.

Nia will just have to take this particular phaser fire for Kylah's sake. She reaches for a piece of cake and stuffs it into her mouth. Anyone asking her anything will have to wait until this massive bite gets swallowed--and Nia's not in a hurry to do so.


Many thanks to choie for the collaboration!
Oh don't mention it, SidonianGal.

"Um, no...thanks...I'm...O...K..." Graham replies progressively more slowly to the steward, transfixed then confused by a bizarre scene playing out with Nia and Kylah.

Graham tries to look something besides beffudled when Nia looks his way...supportive? Well, I guess...

He can't help but sigh, and reaches somewhat randomly for whatever piece of dessert is handy nearby.

The Yorktown's First Officer sets down his fork, leans towards Onn and says, "That sounds like an interesting proposal, Lieutenant. Please submit a report on it to me tomorrow." He smiles as if to say, You haven't fooled me in the least.

A steward brings Graham a piece of lemon cake.

Nia's mouth is too full of cake for her to respond instantly--which, given what her first, instinctive reply would've been, is probably for the best.

She nods and lifts her hand in a slight 'please pardon me a second' gesture. And chews the hell out of what's probably a delicious concoction, but Nia wouldn't know 'cause its flavor isn't registering. Her mind's too busy.

Okay, it was a brazen lie but it was a good idea, damn it. Nia's been wanting a hands-free device for ages. How many times as she had to choose between helm/nav controls or her communicator during a shuttle dogfight when her transponder was taken out by an enemy?

And more grimly, she knows at least two dozen Security officer friends over the years who've been injured, gone missing, captured or worse because they'd had to go dark due to requiring a dual-grip phaser rifle.

Hell... look at Damsel McDrinksalot next to her. That kidnapping on Anubis might've been prevented altogether with a smarter communications device--especially one coupled with the Klingons' anti-transporter technology.

That's all well and good, genius, but stop telling yourself shit you already know. Nia finally swallows a large gulp and adds a bit more time by daintily (and very uncharacteristically) dabbing her lips with her napkin. You just improvised your way into a sleepless night.

"Absolutely, sir," Nia says soberly. "Of course, this is all theoretical until we find out from the Aelyrr whether they've successfully figured those gadgets out. But a report is no problem. After all, there's no need to keep it a secret." Innocent as a lamb, she sips from her water glass and after setting it down, adds: "Frankly, I've been dying to let you know precisely what's on my mind. I just haven't had the opportunity yet."

She hides a grin, and then a new thought takes her. Why should she suffer through this night on her own? With a slight shove of her elbow, Nia startles the young officer to her left. "....And Ensign Kylah? Since you're such an integral part of this, I hope you won't mind assisting me in explaining the plan?"

Graham takes the cake in one hand, absently, and takes a bite.

Now as best he can tell Nia is talking with both Vargas and Kylah, neither of whom as best he understands it she's on good terms with...but she doesn't need my help...

Who does, here?

The noise of the conversations around him blur into a buzz.

Hey Cecilia let me tell you about the time I had to bust this moron's kneecap on Mars...

Ngaka, I was once bitten by a carnivorous plant, can't remember what it was called, but fortunately the whole cluster of nasties was flammable, so that took care of that...

He chews slowly. Fish out of water, at fancy dinner paties, eh Booker?

Newly alert, Kylah turns in surprise back to Lt. Onn. Now she wishes Kylah to speak? And... this plan... She is not entirely sure what the strange woman is talking about, but there is nothing ambiguous about that elbow jab or the forceful glare in Lt. Onn's jewel-green eyes. Another order she must obey.

"Aye aye, ma'am," she says dutifully. "What... whatever you say."

Sitting straighter with some effort, Kylah looks across at Lt. Thalen, wondering if he knows what the Helm Officer means. Then her eyes flit over to find Mr. Alvarez again. This night would be a coup if she could make two new friends. And both medical officers! How convenient, with Sickbay my second home, she thinks with a sudden, atypical giggle.

Regardless, it is true. Whatever mistake just happened with Lt. Onn aside, Kylah has enjoyed the night, and it is thanks to these pleasant men. Even with Dr. Bucci's intensity... no, Kylah is determined not to find fault with him just because he has something unpleasant in his past. She would not be so hypocritical.

She smiles hopefully at Mr. Alvarez. Maybe they can talk after dinner.

The lemon cake isn’t bad, Nathaniel thinks as he takes a bite. But at least this evening is closer to being over.

As far the dinner goes, it looked like Kylah was involved in another crisis of her own making. Nathaniel finds Kylah’s ever shifting and wild range of emotions to be both amusing and annoying. She always seems to be in the midst of some sort of drama. But some people just got off on that sort of thing. One thing Nathaniel has realized though.

As a new member of the crew (and he is probably the newest) he, or Veilar or Sonak is supposed to make a toast. Nathaniel hates that damnedable tradition as he hates most things about Starfleet. And he never quite understands the point of it all. Why in the world would you be toasting someone you didn’t even know? He doesn’t want to do it.

But perhaps, he realizes, maybe he should. As much as he hates the idea, he does need to get to know the people on this ship if he is to complete his mission. Maybe a toast is the way to get some attention.

Damn right 'whatever I say,' Ensign. Nia manages to avoid side-eyeing Kylah and throwing visual daggers at Vargas. Another forkful of cake eases her annoyance... slightly.

She turns to Dr. Bennett beside her and says, under her breath, "I'm not even an engineer, but I swear most of my job involves fixing cracks in a hull and making sure all the nuts are in their proper place. Which is hard when there are so many screws loose." Her eyebrow lifts. "Some looser than others."

She casts a friendly look at Bennett. "Guess that's probably a fair description of your job too. Except you're plugging up up leaky organs and veins and tissues and... well, I actually don't know if that's what you do. What is your specialty?" Her smile tilts and again she lowers her voice. "It's not in psychology, is it? Because if so, I can refer a few patients."

Okay, Nathaniel thinks. Maybe he will like Nia. She seems to think the people around here were as annoying and flaky as he did.

Nathaniel chuckles. “Oh, no. I don’t have the um... patience for psychology. Sitting around and listening to people whine about their problems is really my thing. I patch up messed up brains, not shrink them. My last post was back at Starfleet Medical on Earth. I ran the neurological unit and had my own practice as well. Here, I’ll no doubt spend my time patching up whatever foolishness this crew manages to get itself into. At least if the last few days is any example.”

Which is why Nathaniel has avoided being posted on a starship in the past. It isn’t really practicing medicine, but running a ER unit with one horrific injury after another, usually caused by the foolhardy mission of the day. But he’d chosen to be here... at least until his task is completed. Then once it was over he’d get back to... well he isn’t sure what he is going to do once he’d gotten what he came for. But then his life has been one big question mark for the past few years. And he still didn’t have the answers. He hopes here he’d get them.

Saurian brandy is passed around, although some of you choose other beverages. Then Singh nods to Ens. Alvarez, the juniormost officer present. The medtech knows what is expected of him and rises, glass in hand, to propose the traditional first toast of a shipboard dinner: “The United Federation of Planets!”

You all stand, raise your glasses and repeat “The Federation!,” and drink.

The Captain, as the senior officer present, then offers the traditional second toast: “The ship!”

“The ship!” say all.

Kylah stares at Ensign Alvarez in surprise when he makes the toast, and finds herself going through the motions of saying the right words. Then she sits down heavily with the rest.

"Oh!" she exclaims, enlightenment dawning belatedly. The idea that someone is actually lower than her on the ship fills Kylah with awe. "I did not know he was... That is why the Lieutenant--"

Abruptly Kylah turns to Lt. Onn to thank her for preventing a public protocol mistake. But the older woman is talking with Dr. Bennett. Is that an actual smile on the frightening doctor's face? They look well together, she notes.

Tired and bleary from the wine, she is less able to prevent her senses from reaching out--albeit somewhat haphazardly aimed. Kylah examines the pair and shakes her head slightly. But she does not like him. Nor he her. Not that way. Still, it is good to know the intimidating man has the ability to be collegial toward someone.

She turns to Dr. Bucci. "Looks alone are not enough," she murmurs to him. "I have met many handsome men and beautiful women. They attract, but it does not follow that they are right for one another." Kylah pauses in thought, then leans closer to the man on her left. "Are you married, Dr. Bucci? Forgive me if it is too personal a question," she adds hastily.

After the second sip of brandy--she likes the taste and warmth--Nia chuckles and sets the glass down. "Twelve years of these dinners," she mutters to Dr. Bennett, "and I still don't understand the way they work. Could've sworn the first toast was gonna be from you, Sonak or Veliar."

She shakes her head and, picking up a last forkful of cake, finishes the delicious dessert before continuing in an undertone. "Guess that's what I get for avoiding formal events whenever possible. I mean, it's nice to see everyone all gussied up," Nia says with a glance down toward Booker, whom she can just see past Bucci's bulk. "But rituals like this make me itchy."

Eyeing Bennett again, she muses. "What about you, Doctor? If you don't mind my saying, you seem less than at home, even though the uniform suits you." She cocks her head in the direction of the far end of the table. "That's Lt. Cecilia Bennett down there. Are you related?"

Dr. Bucci nods. "Looks alone aren't enough. And of course, there's no telling who might be attracted to whom. I've seen some very good-looking couples, but I've probably seen more in which one is a looker and the other is average in appearance, or even ugly." He takes a sip of Saurian brandy. "Yes, I was married, Ensign, but my wife died. It was a long time ago. No apology necessary; I don't mind talking about it."

The Science Officer rises, glass in hand, and proposes another toast: "The Captain!"

After that toast has been drunk, the First Officer says, "A toast from the Age of Sail: to our spouses and sweethearts - may they never meet!"

Graham raises his glass at the appropriate times to toast. Vargas' toast strikes him as something unexpected from the seemingly straight-laced First Officer. And he holds back a chuckle. He can't help but glance toward Cecilia and then Nia. It's not like anybody is anyone's spouse, or that Bennett's a sweetheart, for god's sake, Booker...relax.

A sip of brandy helps.

"She's my cousin," Nathaniel says, grateful the toast is well and done. He didn't want to do it. In fact, he finds the whole tradition to be irritating and serving of little purposes, like most social graces regarding Starfleet
.
He had to admit that Nia is quite perceptive. He isn't at home here and he isn't happy to be here at all in fact. But he didn't want her to know that. He didn't want anyone to know that. People needed to believe he is perfectly satisfied being on this damned ship. Otherwise, it could get in the way of his mission. He hates to admit it, but he is going to have to gain friends if this was to have any success. Get people to trust him. He might as well start with her. She seems all too eager to get to know him. Which she would. At least what he wants her to know.

"As for these rituals, Starfleet has always been.... too concerned with them in my opinion." Nathaniel says. "I've always kept my focus on the job. It's nice to meet someone who actually sees things the way I do for a change."

Alexei Kostoyev raises his glass and says, "To the gallant officers and crew of the Yorktown, with our gratitude for your hospitality!"

After several more toasts, the Captain thanks everyone for attending, and excuses herself to check on something on the Bridge. The First Officer leaves not long afterwards, and others begin drifting away.

Graham remembers, on a previous occasion, asking if he could walk Cecilia "home" to her quarters. It wins up being something of a nostalgic memory of a simpler time, because under the present circumstances it seems if nothing else a lot more prudent and necessary to find out of things are OK between Nia and Kylah.


As expeditiously as he can without obviously weird behavior he heads toward them.

Nia almost snorts at Vargas's uncharacteristic playfulness, drinks when necessary, nods at Dr. Bennett's remarks, all the while keeping track of Cecilia, Booker--good, he seems to be coming this way--and finally her new Communications Officer study partner for the night. Since the latter doesn't seem to remember how to stand up (too bad she didn't have that problem earlier on, or Nia wouldn't've found her way into this mess), Nia can focus on the doctor beside her.

"Oh, I'm your girl if you want intros to like-minded folks with similar or at least non-conflicting attitudes. I don't waste time with either sticks-in-the-mud or the rarefied elite. Unless I'm ordered to," she adds with an arched left eyebrow that doesn't quite indicate Kylah, but... well, kinda does. Her voice lowers. "And then I play dress up and go through the motions until I get to have fun again. For example..."

She pivots to Booker just as he's close enough to hear her. "Book," she says, her lips forming the round vowels like a kiss. "You men have already met, I suppose? Don't tell me, Dr. Bennett's cousin probably did the introductions for you." Nia smiles brightly. "Maybe she should do the same for us. Cecilia's voice might make my name more memorable."

Oh, fuck me, I've become the bitchy girlfriend I hate. He called me by his wife's name, so what. That's normal. It doesn't mean...

The only bright side is that Booker can't possibly know what she's talking about. She hurries forward. "Despite how gorgeous we each look in our resplendent uniforms, turns out the three of us share a lack of patience for high style. Maybe we can rustle up a poker night sometime. Do you play, Doctor? A night of poker can show you the insides of people's minds as well as a scanner."

Kylah sits through the final toasts and, while others have risen, remains seated. Her legs seem very heavy. So do her arms, actually. Has the gravity in the ship changed?

Another little buzz against her hip surprises her. Frowning, Kylah looks around to make sure no one is watching, then takes the opportunity to slip her communicator from her belt.

It is from Velir. And not just one message, but two. Why two? She keeps her hands in her lap, nestling the device in a napkin while she reads the earlier note first.

KYLAH, ENS. -- Thank you for writing to me. I am feeling better and hope to be discharged shortly. I read with interest of the encounter with the off-course Federation probe and would like to thank you for the summary. Indeed I would have wished I could have been on the Bridge when it happened instead of in SickBay.

Once again, thank you for telling me about the probe, it was far more interesting than my current time in Sick bay. -- RANGIN, ENS.

Kylah's heart, thrumming as she reads, now beats a little less pleasantly, making her cheeks warm in disappointment. Anyone could have written such a note. Of course, she did not expect Shakespearean sonnets. Even if they were fully... fully lovers... Kylah doubts Velir Rangin would ever be that sort of romantic.

Why is she so upset? They have only just barely begun talking again! If they are to be anything more, she will have to wait. She knows he does not yet trust her, and perhaps she should be wary of him, too. How often has he suddenly turned against her?

And yet she still wants to see him. Now. Tonight. She wants to make sure he is still safe. He mentioned the Sickbay room. It must be dark and lonely there. I could sit by him. I could read to him...

Frustrated with her stupid, girlish little fantasies, Kylah sniffles and looks up to see Dr. Bucci, seemingly ready to go.

She shuts the communicator and slips it sloppily back in place. Defying gravity to stand, she takes a deep breath to clear her head.

"Dr. Bucci," she says, swinging her hand up to touch his sleeve to get his attention. "Thank you for our conversation. I am sorry if I brought up any poor memories for you. But if you should ever feel like telling me more about your wife, I would be honored. Sometimes I think we do not talk enough about the departed..." Kylah thinks of Lt. Fujishiro and shudders.

She aims her slightly woozy glance at Dr. Alvarez. Has he found her behavior unseemly? She cannot remember catching his eye once since they sat down. Perhaps it is only those like Darren Zweller, like Fastolfe, like Jan--maybe such filthy men are the only ones she can keep in her thrall. The worthy seem to think she is toxic.

"Dr. Bucci?" she repeats, and then turns to his younger colleague. "Ensign Alvarez?" Her voice is softer, less certain. "I would like to check in on Ensign Rangin, if I may. Would one of you accompany me?"